


space travel

by skuls



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s08e16 Three Words, Season 8 angst, the title doesn't make much sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 19:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18533761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: Prompt: Scully takes some time for herself after Mulder's tumultuous return.





	space travel

After everything is over, after Doggett and Mulder are nearly caught at the census bureau, Scully takes Mulder home. It’s not what she’d particularly like to do, but she can’t do it anymore. She can’t play this game, this waiting game with Mulder; she can’t put herself or the baby in danger, she can’t watch him be reckless and run into danger and get himself killed all over again. She can’t take it. She is furious, and she’s not sure she can keep her temper through all of this, considering how the last few days have gone. The last thing she wants is to be away from him, after all this time, but she can’t lose him again. So she leaves him.

Parked on the curb, Mulder starts to get out of the car before looking back at her uncertainly. “Are you, uh…” he begins, motioning to his building.

She looks away from him, biting her lip to hold back the angry, hurt things she is thinking. “I’m going to go home and get some rest, Mulder,” she says quietly, defeated, and thinks of the baby.

There’s a silence before Mulder says, “Oh,” as if he didn’t expect this. (But how could he not have expected this? Is he conscious in any way of the way he’s been treating her?) “Oh, I… that’s a good idea, Scully.”

“You should get some rest, too,” she says. She can feel the baby turning over, and she puts a hand to her belly as if to soothe him. “Take some space for yourself, Mulder. You call me if you need anything.”

He doesn’t say anything to this, for such a long moment that she starts to be concerned. She turns to him just as he closes his door, just in time to see him turn and head into the building.

She sighs deeply. She wills herself not to cry. She doesn’t think she could take more crying. She rubs a hand over her abdomen soothingly and takes deep breaths until she feels sure she will not cry. She starts the car and pulls away from the curb. She drives all the way home, trying to convince herself that her hands are steady on the wheel.

—

She doesn’t talk to Mulder for three days.

It’s one of the hardest things she has ever done, not talking to him. It stings. She never thought she wouldn’t be talking to him, after getting him back. She’d thought that she’d be spending every day with him, that she’d take him home and he’d stay with her and be happy to see her and happy about the baby, and be every bit the way he was when she lost him. That they could both be happy together.

She feels foolish, now, to have believed that they could be happy. She feels so foolish. It kills her not to call him, not to see him, but she doesn’t know what else to do. None of this is happening the way it was supposed to. So she does not call him. She isn’t sure she has the strength to talk to him without putting all of the emotions she’s feeling on him, be it anger or horrible grief, and she can’t do that to him, so she doesn’t call him.

She forces herself to relax. To do all the things she should’ve been doing throughout her pregnancy instead of overexerting herself and putting herself in danger and being absolutely sick with grief. She reads the books her mom has lent her, she watches daytime television with an air of disgust, she naps for long hours in her sunlit bedroom. She orders take out and eats it on the couch, she flips through  _What To Expect When You’re Expecting,_  she takes polite phone calls from Skinner and Doggett and Frohike who call to check on her, how she is doing. She tries not to think about Mulder, despite the fact that she is wearing an old shirt of his half the time, or is wrapped in a blanket she’d taken from his couch, or is wearing his socks because her feet are swollen and usually cold and his are enormous. It’s horribly hard, but she tries not to think about him, except for when she is talking with Frohike and asks if he has talked to him.

Frohike pauses awkwardly on the other end before saying, “Yeah, we talked yesterday. He… I think he’s adjusting.”

“Adjusting,” she says softly, curling up as best she can in the corner of the couch. “That’s good.” As badly as she wants him here with her, it is comforting to know that he is out there, alive and okay, and to believe that he is using this time to get himself together, to try to heal. She isn’t sure if this is the reality of the situation, but she wants to believe it is. A few days ago, she was mad—mad at the way Mulder was treating her, at the fact that he clearly believed that she had gone and had a baby without her, at the way he seemed to disregard the fact that she had fucking buried him, at the sound of his voice as he said,  _Someone’s been doing a little campaigning for her cause_ —but now she just feels deflated. He doesn’t deserve her anger, and she doesn’t have the energy to hold onto it anymore. She just wants him back.

Frohike is awkward on the other end, silent and apologetic. He says he is sorry for the way things have gone down with Mulder, and she thanks him. She doesn’t know what else to do. She’s heard so many apologies by now. She thanks him for calling and hangs up, picks up her book and reopens it. She forces herself to keep reading, telling herself that he is okay, that he is adjusting and she will see him when he’s ready. She thinks of how much these last few days stung, everything he said, and tells herself that she’s right to give him space, to give herself space. That this will all blow over.

She hopes this will all blow over.

—

She takes a nap that afternoon on the couch, wrapped up in his Stonehenge sweatshirt. (He’d brought too many souvenirs home from England; he’d bought her a hat that read  _STONEHENGE ROCKS!!!_ She’d taken too many things from his apartment that she hadn’t returned; she’d anticipated having a chance to tell him about everything, the things she’d taken and how much she missed him and how much she’d wanted him to come home.) She takes a nap and wakes up foggy-minded and hungry, thinking of Mulder initially and flipping through the torrential catalog of the past few months before remembering that he is alive, he is okay and she’s giving him space to recover. She sighs, sitting up with some effort and groaning at further movement from the baby. She dimly decides to heat up some lasagna for dinner and heads into the kitchen. She’s gotten into the freezer and is rummaging for the single person lasagna at the back when she hears a knock at the door.

Halfway expecting it to be her mother, Scully smooths her rumpled hair and goes to the door. She’s not particularly in the mood to hear her mom’s questions about where Mulder is, but she opens the door anyway and finds Mulder on the other side. Mulder with rumpled hair and dark circles under his eyes and the same leather jacket from a few days ago. Her breath catches in her throat inadvertently, a hand to the baby.

“Um, hi,” Mulder says sheepishly, rocking back and forth on his feet.

She swallows hard. “Hi,” she says softly.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at their feet. “I, uh…” he begins gradually. “I was looking for my sweatshirt.” He lifts his head, motioning gingerly at her. “I guess I found it,” he adds, chuckling nervously.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she says immediately. The sleeves are too long, hanging over her hands, and she curls her fists around the edge. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your sweatshirt. I just…” She bites her lip and looks at the ground. She doesn’t want to get emotional again. “You can have it back,” she says quickly, “if you’ll just… give me a minute…”

“No, no, Scully… you don’t have to…” he says, strained. “Y-you keep it, okay? I… I know how cold you get.”

She forces a small laugh, pretending his words don’t want to make her curl up in tears. “Thank you, Mulder,” she says. She meets his eyes, stepping aside. “Do… do you want to come in?”

He swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be…” He steps into the apartment, rubbing at the back of his neck as she closes the door. He reaches out, towards her shoulder, as if to touch her, but draws back at the last minute.

She balls and unballs her hands. The baby kicks; she chews at her lower lip. “What… can I do for you, Mulder?” She hates the informality of it all. She wants to go back to eight months ago, to when they were happy and together and everything was easy. She wants all of their lost time back.

Mulder sighs, his head hanging forward. He takes a deep, shaky breath before saying in a rush, “I haven’t heard from you.”

She looks at him in astonishment. She can feel her nose burning like she’s going to cry. “I… I wanted to give you some space, Mulder,” she murmurs. “I wanted to give both of us some space…”

“I know, but I…” He suddenly looks lost. Incredibly lost, standing in her front hall, his eyes wide, his skin pale. “I… thought I’d hear from you,” he says in a small voice.

A mixture of irritation and deep, deep sympathy fills her; she loves him so much, and she wants to go to him, but she makes herself stay where she is. “I can’t do everything, Mulder,” she says tightly, and pretends she doesn’t want to cry. “Not anymore.”

His jaw clenches, unclenches. “I know,” he says roughly. “I know, it’s just…” He stops again, a lengthy silence.

She shuts her eyes. She can feel the baby moving, as restless as ever, and it’s too much. “Just what, Mulder?” she asks in a quivering voice. “Just what?”

“Just…” he blurts, unsure of what to say. “Y-you’re wearing my sweatshirt, Scully.”

She balls her palm around the frayed hem of her sleeve. Goddamnit, she really is going to cry. “Do you want it back?” she whispers.

“No,” he says, his voice thick, and then he’s stepping close and wrapping her up in his arms. “No, I don’t want it back,” he whispers into her hair, and her eyes well up with tears. “You keep it, okay?”

“Mulder,” she whispers.

“I’m  _sorry_ ,” he whispers back, and he sounds like he is crying, too. “I’m so sorry, Scully.”

She trembles in his arms, pressing her face to his chest. “I’m sorry, too,” she chokes out. “I… I didn’t expect things to go this way.”

“It's… it’s not your fault,” he says uncertainly. “It’s not. It's… it's… it’s going to be okay.”

She wipes her eyes with one hand, draws back and rises up awkwardly to kiss his forehead, a hand on the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and she shakes her head, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. He presses one hand against the back of her head, the other to the swell of her stomach.

“I missed you,” she breathes, and she thinks she is talking about these past three days as much as the past six months.

“You, too.” He kisses her forehead. The baby kicks at his hand, and she sniffles, holding him as tightly as she can. He leans down to kiss her mouth, and she quivers with the weight of it. He is finally  _here_. She loves him so much.

“Do you, uh…” he begins uncertainly, wiping tears from her eyes. Wiping tears from his own. “Do you think… I could stay here for a little while?”

She nods. She nods without hesitation. She thinks that they both have a lot of healing to do, but she’d like to do it together.


End file.
